Some Books Are Just Meant To Be Burned
by Ratt9
Summary: Light won't fall for L's tricks. That doesn't mean L isn't going to try. Eventual romance?


This is just something I wrote in an attempt to distract myself from the whole Occupy Wall Street protests, which I'm pissed that I am unable to take part in. Still one year left before I move out… Dx

I am almost done with the next Deep Dark Secrets chapter! Don't kill me!

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><p><strong>Cursing And Prank Calling Is Not Beneath Me<strong>

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><p>Matsuda, for once, is on a roll.<p>

He may not be the brightest member on the task force, but he has always been an excellent typist. Hands flying over the keys, he rarely makes a single mistake. He can _feel _when he has erred, and is no longer in the habit of proofreading his work. Staring at the screen slows him down, so he types with his gaze averted downward, to the floor.

With a final keystroke, a brief glance to the screen reveals a lack of angry, red lines under any words. Feeling confident that he has made no typos, Matsuda cheerfully presses the button to fax the document to L, who is sitting in the other room.

Not even five minutes later, L, handcuffs dragging a reluctant Light along, all but bursts through the door. In between the detective's fingers is Matsuda's report.

"Does Matsuda-san _enjoy _working here?" L asks in strained monotone, staring down the police officer intently.

Eyes widening, Matsuda nervously sputters, "Erm, of course! I love working here! Why, what's wrong?" He looks to Light, hoping that the Kira suspect would somehow clue him in on what he has done wrong.

He wouldn't. The teen stands with his arms crossed, presumably giving them both the cold shoulder in annoyance.

"Does Matsuda-san feel any resentment toward me, perchance?" L continues.

"Uhh, no…" By now, Matsuda is terrified.

_Am I about to be fired?_

"Is Matsuda-san a voyeur who wishes to see me 'get kinky' with the body of a deceased criminal?"

_What the fuck?_

"Of course not! That's creepy!"

L bites his thumb and waves Matsuda's report in front of the man's face. "Then perhaps Matsuda-san would like to explain to me his reasons for the vividly colourful language he used so profusely in his report?"

"Wha-what are you…?" Matsuda trails off as he begins to read what he had faxed to his boss.

_Ryuzaki, you muthafuckin' bastard—_

_I, God, researched those damn things you fucking asked me to write those damn reports on. Here is like shit the goddamn information you fucking wanted. The goddamn detailed information you fucking requested is like shit provided in the goddamn attachments of the goddamn email that I, God, sent just a few minutes ago._

_The goddamn name of the goddamn criminal in the goddamn picture you fucking sent me earlier is, like shit, a man by the goddamn name of Kisho Gohachiro. And to answer your retarded question, hell no, bitch, he didn't show me your retarded body or display any weird behavior before he died. Hell no, bitch, none of them are doing that crazy shit anymore. Remember, retard? Anyway, you fag, there you fucking go. Now die._

_Oh yeah! Before I, God, forget: Watari, that old fart, wanted me to tell you fucking that crazy shit he is like shit out of strawberry cake as well. He says that crazy shit you fucking have to choose between either cake made with a mixture of apples and cherries, or just plain chocolate cake._

_Remember that I am God! Hell yeahz._

_-Matsuda_

Matsuda's mouth drops open. Did he seriously write that? What had he been _thinking_?

Matsuda can do nothing but stare at the page, working his brain overtime to try to come up with some comprehensible response. He doesn't have much luck.

After about 30 seconds, L begins to hiss, his face still blank.

Hiss? No, that's not right. It's more like a wheeze.

A smile forces its way past L's steely defenses, and soon the detective breaks down and begins chortling. Matsuda has never felt more puzzled in his entire life.

One arm still bent across his chest, Light covers one side of his face with his hand, sighing in what seems to be exasperation.

"_Ignore _him," the suspect grumbled, briefly glaring at the person connected to the other end of the handcuff, "he's been doing this all morning." Light's statement seems to throw L yet further over the edge with hilarity. L accidentally snorts, causing him to giggle even harder.

Matsuda has no idea what is going on, but L's laugh is disturbing him greatly.

Light throws his hands halfway up in surrender. "He's been reading this stupid book that lists all these different ways to be annoying to people. He obviously switched the autocorrect settings on your computer to autocorrect 'the' and replace it with 'THE FUCKING', or whatever it's changed to in the report. I'm hoping that if we ignore him, he'll eventually tire of this and get back to work on the Kira case."

The teen gives a sharp tug on the chain, pulling the still-laughing detective along with him. They exit the room, but not before Matsuda hears Light mutter, "I swear, it's like I'm chained to a fucking two year old."

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><p>L has a phone book.<p>

Light, as Ryuzaki would say, is 89% certain that this is not a good thing.

L flips open the yellow book and leafs through the pages in a manner that suggests he is looking for nothing in particular. He suddenly stops on a random page near the middle of the directory.

Pulling out his cell phone, L dials what appears to be a regular person's number. The detective switches on the SpeakerPhone setting, and Light can hear the long, monotonous _riiiiiiiinnnngg_.

"Ryuzaki," Raito tries, "you should really st—"

"Shh!" the older man hushes, eyes fixated on the mobile as if it were the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe. Light falls silent, undeniably just a bit curious as to what L is about to do.

A Japanese lady answers the phone. "Hirana Shizui speaking. How may I help you?"

"Oh, uh, _hiiii…_" L says warmly, applying an obnoxious American accent to his Japanese. "I'm wondering if Mikey is available to come to the phone?"

"I'm sorry sir, but I think you must have the wrong number. I don't know anyone by that name."

"Oh, alright. Sorry." L presses a button to disconnect the call.

"…What was the point of that?" Light wonders. "That can hardly be considered annoying. People phone wrong numbers all the time. It's no big deal or anything."

"Just wait, Light-kun. You'll see," L assures.

The teen discovers what he means soon enough.

Within five minutes of ending the first call, L opens his phone back up and presses the button labeled "Redial".

The same woman picks up. "This is Hirana Shizui."

"I'd like to speak to Mikey?"

Light facepalms. This is a ridiculous waste of time.

"…Uhm…Sir, I told you not ten minutes ago that there is no Mikey at this residence."

"Is that so?" L fakes a confused tone.

"Erm…yes."

"My apologies, then." Once again, the detective hangs up.

He waits for around the same amount of time before dialing the number again.

"Hello?" Judging by her tone of voice, Hirana Shizui is not a very happy woman right now.

"Is Mikey available?"

"_No_. _I already told you_." the woman all but growls. "Stop phoning this number!" The sound of the phone slamming down precedes a dial tone.

L smirks, closing the phone for the third time. Within a couple of minutes, he presses the Redial button again.

"Ryuzaki! No! Stop harassing that woman!" Light cries, grabbing for the phone. L pulls it away from him before he can get it.

"Be patient, Light-kun. Just wait."

"_Sir_!" Shizui shouts, pissed off.

L assumes a different voice. "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am. My name is Mikey. Have there been any messages for me?"

Light could have sworn that he heard someone's vein pop.

{To Be Continued…}

Please review! Please! O: They happify me, and I am currently in a mood that might result in somebody dying. Save a (probably) innocent life—review! Thank you for reading.

~Ratt Kazamata

10/15/2011


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